


That Tiny Ball of Fluff (Makes Everything Better)

by wintermute



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Clint has a bad day, Established Relationship, Fluff, Giant Mongooses, M/M, SHIELD Husbands, Tumblr Fic, puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermute/pseuds/wintermute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is not having a good day, but Phil has a surprise that <i>might</i> just make it that much better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Tiny Ball of Fluff (Makes Everything Better)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlyKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/gifts).



> Aly was feeling down and wants C/C fluff, so here it is! Originally posted on Tumblr. I reworked a little bit of it and caught as many bloopers as I can.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Clint sighed. This was not how he imagined today to be at all. He had been hoping for a slow day so he could maybe convince Phil to leave work on time for once and do some couple-y things for a change. Like seeing a movie, or checking out one of those Yelp-recommended greasy spoons they both had an unhealthy appreciation for. Apparently the universe was against him spending time with his husband, as usual.

His morning started as it usually did these days, waking up next to Phil, drifting slowly out of the haze of a good night’s sleep with his husband’s arms wrapped around him. That was, until Phil got a call as he was coming out of the shower. After that, it was Phil in a mad scramble to leave, telling Clint that he’d see him for lunch at his office, and Clint waving him goodbye since he didn’t need to be in until later. That was okay; Clint understood that whatever the phone call was about, it was probably important. After all, Clint had been on the receiving end of those kinds of calls too, when they needed him to provide operational support on an emergency mission. Those were worse, because they usually came in the middle of the night, when they’d both settled down and were toying with the idea of sex versus getting a bit more sleep. He hadn’t even included all the times the Avengers were called out at pretty much all hours of the day. So, yes, he totally understood. He just didn’t expect his day to get worse from there.

The Avengers assembled later that morning because some high school nerd with a need to prove himself dosed the animals in Central Park Zoo with something that made them twenty-feet tall and very angry. It turned out that chasing an angry pack of giant mongooses down Park Avenue wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded.

It would’ve been okay, though, a little relaxing even, letting loose tranq arrows one after another so the others could round up the animals for containment until the scientists at SHIELD could figure out how to shrink them back down to size—it was practically target practice for Clint. That was, until some do-gooder decided that giant, rampaging mongooses weren’t all that scary and dangerous, and ran into the fray with a baseball bat. A fucking _baseball bat_! Clint was the only one that noticed the guy, and in his attempt to warn the dumbass away from being flattened by mongoose paws the size of a small car, he missed his shot.

Missing a shot wouldn’t have bothered him all that much—it happened on occasion when his target moved more erratically than he could compensate. What bothered him was the fact that the mongoose then proceeded to swat Iron Man out of the sky and into the ground. Tony was a good bro and an excellent prank partner, and, even though it wasn’t Clint’s fault at all (Tony had insisted), he still felt responsible for Tony’s bruised ribs as he watched him limp out of medical, an arm gingerly hugging his side.

Oh, yeah, and he missed lunch with Phil. Great. His husband had already dove headlong into mitigating some other disaster by the time they made it back to base. Clint didn’t feel like hanging out in Phil’s office without him there, so he went down to the range to get some practice in, then proceeded to slip and sprain his ankle before he even had the chance to get out his practice bow. (He was going to have some words with maintenance later about not putting up signs.) Visiting the med bay twice in one day was not his idea of fun, and definitely not helping his mood.

By the time Natasha helped him up the stairs into their apartment and dumped his sorry ass unceremoniously onto the couch, he was ready to curl into a ball, feeling ever so sorry for himself. He knew that he was being childish, that things weren’t as bad as he made them out to be, but he really just wanted, for once, a boring, uneventful day that ended with hours of cuddling with Phil on the couch. Like normal people.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he knew, it was dark out and there were clinks of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. He pulled himself upright, stretched out the kinks of curling up for hours, then hobbled towards the source of the noise.

“Phil?” he muttered, with the end of Phil’s name dissolving into a half-stifled yawn.

Phil in jeans and a t-shirt was a sight for sore eyes. Clint huffed out a sigh, half relief, half content, then shuffled over to stand behind Phil. He wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist automatically, burying his face into the crook of Phil’s neck to breath in deeply his husband’s scent.

“Hey,” Phil turned his head to peck a soft kiss to the crown of Clint’s head. “How’re you feeling?”

Clint could smell the simmering veggies and beef. It was heavenly. “Crappy,” he mumbled. “Whatcha making?”

“Lasagna.” Phil nodded towards the sheets of pasta sitting on the other side of the counter. Clint couldn’t help smiling into the soft cotton of Phil’s shirt. Phil’s lasagna was his second-favorite comfort food, right below Phil’s mac and cheese. He watch Phil give the pot another good stir, sneaking a taste from the wooden spoon before setting it down. Turning in Clint’s arms, Phil cupped Clint’s face with his hands, leaning in for a lingering kiss.

Clint whined indignantly when he pulled away. Phil rolled his eyes. “Be a good boy now. Go get an ice pack to ice that ankle and wait for me in the living room. I’m almost done here.”

Clint pouted but obeyed Phil’s instructions nonetheless. He knew how to care for sprained ankles—god knew he’d had enough of them before—he just hadn’t had the chance to do so before he passed out on the couch. Back in the living room, he sat down and sprawled all over the length of the couch, the ice pack wrapped to his ankle with a tea towel, then fished for the remote to channel surf until he found something watchable.

It only took another ten minutes for Phil to finish layering the dish and put the whole thing into the oven. He came strolling into the living room with two mugs of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows in his hands. He sat down next to Clint, careful moving Clint’s legs over his lap, taking care not to disturb his injured foot.

Clint felt no shame in curling over and cuddle into Phil as Phil handed a mug to him. Clint’d learned early on in their relationship that he should never feel embarrassed for seeking comfort from Phil. It was as much for him as it was for Phil, who said nothing, except opening his arms invitingly, wrapping an arm over his shoulder tightly after he’d finally settled.

“Doc Foster said I’m out for three days,” Clint’s words were muffled as he said them into Phil’s t-shirt. “Told me to stay on the couch and not to move around.”

“I heard,” Phil took a sip of his hot chocolate before setting it down, licking at his chocolate mustache.

“Sucks,” Clint huffed. Clint hated being told to stay put when it wasn’t part of a mission. If past behavior were any indication, the boredom would drive him into madness before the three days were up. “Can I at least go to the range? It’s just a sprained ankle. My arms are fine! And it’s not like I can’t walk at all.”

“No.” Phil glared at him. “You’re not going to the range.”

“Come on, Phil. It’s boring by myself here!” Clint complained into his mug, feeling a little guilty at dumping his mope-y moodiness onto Phil.

“I know,” Phil sighed, remembering the last time Clint was injured badly enough to be out of commission for more than a day. “Which is why I have a surprise for you.”

Surprise? Clint perked up at the mention of the word. “You do?”

“Mm-hmm,” Phil smiled. “Stay here.”

“Not going anywhere anytime soon,” Clint couldn’t help snarking, pointing at his ace bandage-wrapped ankle. He could practically feel Phil rolling his eyes as his husband made his way to their bedroom.

Phil came back with a box. A very large box. Clint arched an eyebrow, looking at the box suspiciously when sounds of movement came from the damn thing.

“What the hell?”

Phil set the box down on the other side of Clint, then settled back into his spot as Clint’s pillow. “Go ahead, open it.”

Clint was still giving the box the stink eye but he reached out carefully to open the top flaps. His heart sped up when he heard the soft whine coming from the inside of the box. He peeked in, and saw two black eyes staring back from the tiny fuzzy white and golden head. Clint turned to stare at Phil. “Phil?”

Phil reached over and scooped out the puppy with one hand then deposited the tiny bundle of fur on Clint’s lap. Clint stared at the ball of fuzz sniffing at his hands, still couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

“As I understand it, you’re supposed to cuddle it,” Phil said dryly, but his eyes were glowing with amusement.

“You got me a puppy?” Clint finally allowed himself to bury his fingers into the soft fur. The puppy let out a happy yelp, sniffing and lapping at Clint’s fingers. Clint chuckled. “Hey, boy.”

“It’s a girl, actually.” Phil leaned into Clint and brushed a kiss to his temple. “My mother’s friend’s Corgi gave birth to a litter two months ago. She’s a bit small for eight weeks but otherwise healthy.” He paused, like he was debating on whether to continue, and did only when Clint turned to look at him. “I, uh, remember you saying when we first moved here that it’s nice to have our own place because you can finally get a dog like you’d always wan—”

Phil didn’t get to finish his sentence because Clint was on him, licking into his mouth in a deep kiss like they hadn’t seen each other in months. When they finally parted, it was because the puppy decided to make her presence known and began gnawing on Clint’s thumb with tiny baby teeth. Which was sharper than expected, Clint noted as he poked at the fluff, prodding her to flip over on her back so he could scratch her belly.

“I still can’t believe you got me a puppy,” Clint said, much later, feeling much better from his mope-y rut earlier. They’d finished dinner in the living room and Phil had hauled up the pet supplies from his car while Clint did the dishes. The puppy had tired herself out after some energetic playtime and was dozing on Clint’s lap like a little fuzzy furnace.

“I was going to wait for Christmas or your birthday, but when Mom told me about it a few weeks ago I just couldn’t say no.” Phil had one arm wrapped around Clint’s shoulder, and his free hand was stroking the soft fur on the puppy’s back, bumping with Clint’s own.

“She’s adorable.” Clint looked up, meeting Phil’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“And now you have someone to keep you company and from boredom while you’re recouping,” Phil said, pressing a butterfly kiss to Clint’s cheek.

“Still better if you’re here, though.”

“I know,” Phil sighed. “I’ll try to be home earlier tomorrow.”

“Pshaw, I’ve heard that before.” Clint rolled his eyes.

“I said I’ll try,” Phil said sheepishly. “Have you decided what to name her?” he asked, totally not subtle at the topic change.

“I was thinking Allie,” Clint said after a short pause. “When I was in the circus, the bearded lady had a little lap dog and it always cheered me up to play with it whenever… anyways. ’S why I liked dogs.” Clint shrugged. “Her real name was Allison, the bearded lady, not the dog.”

“Allie,” Phil sounded the name, like he was feeling the way it rolled off his tongue. “I like it.”

Clint smiled at his husband before saying softly, “Welcome home, Allie.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me here: http://thisiswintermute.tumblr.com/


End file.
